Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

Mens faults do feldom to themselves appear,
Their own tranfgreffions partially they fmother:
This guilt would feem death-worthy in thy brother.
O! how are they wrapt in with infamies,

That from their own mifdeeds afkaunce their eyes!

To thee, to thee, my heav'd up hands appeal,
Not to feducing luft's outrageous fire;
I fue for exil'd majefty's repeal,

Let him return and flattering thoughts retire.
His true afpect will prifon falfe defire,

And wipe the dim mift from thy doating eyne,
That thou shalt see thy ftate and pity mine.

Have done, quoth he, my uncontrouled tide Turns not, but fwells the higher by this let; Small lights are foon blown out, huge fires abide, And with the wind in greater fury fret:

The petty streams that pay a daily debt

To their falt fovereign with their fresh false hafte, Add to his flow, but alter not the taste.

Thou art (quoth fhe) a sea, a sovereign king,
And lo! there falls into thy boundless flood
Black luft, dishonour, fhame, misgoverning,
Who feek to ftain the ocean of thy blood.
If all thefe petty ills fhould change thy good,
Thy fea within a puddle womb is burst,
And not the puddle in thy fea difpers'd.

So fhall these flaves be king, and thou their flave;
Thou nobly base, they bafely dignified;
Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave;.
Thou loathed in thy fhame, they in thy pride:
The leffer thing fhould not the greater hide..

The cedar ftoops not to the base shrub's foot,
But low fhrubs wither at the cedar's root.

So let thy thoughts low vaffals to thy ftate-
No more, quoth he, by heav'n I will not hear thee:
Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate,
Instead of love's coy touch, fhall rudely tear thee:
That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee

Unto the bafe bed of fome rascal groom,
To be thy partner in this fhameful doom.

[ocr errors]

This faid, he fets his foot upon the light,
For light and luft are deadly enemies :
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf has feiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries,
Till with her own white fleece her voice controul'd
Intombs her outcry in her lips fweet fold.

For with the nightly linen, that she wears,
He pens her piteous clamours in her head,
Cooling his hot face in the chaftest tears,
That ever modeft eyes with forrow shed.
O that foul luft fhould ftain fo pure a bed1

The fpots whereof, could weeping purify,
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.

But he hath loft a dearer thing than life,
And he hath won what he would lose again;
This forced league doth force a further strife,
This momentary joy breeds months of pain,
This hot defire converts to cold disdain.
Pure chaflity is rifled of her store,

And luft, the thief, far poorer than before.

Look as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,
Unapt for tender fmell, or fpeedy flight,
Make flow purfuit, or altogether balk
The prey wherein by nature they delight:
So furfeit-taking Tarquin fears this night;
His taste delicious, in digeftion fouring,
Devours his will, that liv'd by foul devouring.

O! deeper fin, than bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in ftill imagination!
Drunken defire, muft vomit his receit,
Ere he can fee his own abomination.
While luft is in his pride, no exclamation

Can curb his heat, or rein his rath defire,
Till, like a jade, felf-will himfelf doth tire.

And then with lank and lean difcolour'd cheek, With heavy eye, knit brow, and ftrengthless pace, Feeble defire all recreant, poor and meek,

Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his cafe:

The flesh being proud, defire does fight with grace.
For there it revels, and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remiffion prays.

So fares it with this fault-full lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment fo hotly chas'd:
For now against himself he founds this doom,
That thro' the length of time he ftands difgrac'd:
Befides, his foul's fair temple is defac'd;

To whose weak ruins mufter troops of cares,
To afk the spotted princefs how the fares.

She fays, her fubjects with foul infurre&ion
Have batter'd down her confecrated wall,

And by their mortal fault brought in subjection.
Her immortality, and made her thralli

To living death, and pain perpetual :

Which in her prefcience the controuled ftill,
But her forefight could not fore-ftall their will.

E'en in this thought thro' the dark night he stealeth,
A captive victor, that hath loft in gain:

Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The fcar that, will, defpite of cure, remain:
Leaving his fpoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load of luft he left behind,
And he the burden of a guilty mind.

He like a thievifh dog creeps fadly thence,
She like a weary'd lamb lies panting there :
He fcowls and hates himself for his offence,
She defperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear:
He faintly flies, fweating with guilty fear:

She ftays exclaiming on the direful night,
He runs and chides his vanifh'd loath'd delight.

He thence departs a heavy convertite;
She there remains a hopeless cast-away:
He in his fpeed looks for the morning-light;
She prays The never may behold the day:
For day (quoth fhe) night scapes doth open lay;
And my true eyes have never practis'd how
To cloke offences with a cunning brow.

They think not but that every eye can fee
The fame difgrace, which they themselves behold;
And therefore would they ftill in darkness lie,
To have their unfeen fin remain untold.

For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,

And grave, like water that doth eat in steel, Upon their cheeks what helpless fhame they feel.

Here the exclaims againft repofe and reft,

And bids her eyes hereafter ftill be blind:
She wakes her heart, by beating on her breaft,
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
Some purer cheft to close fo pure a mind.

Frantic with grief, thus breathes fhe forth her spight
Against the unfeen secrecy of night.

O comfort- killing night! image of hell!
Dim register and notary of fhame!
Black ftage for tragedies! and murders fell!
Vaft fin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!
Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour of defame!

[ocr errors]

Grim cave of death! whispering confpirator
With clofe-tongued treafon and the ravifher!

O hateful, vapourous, and foggy night!
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Mufter thy mifts to meet the eaftern light,
Make war against proportion'd course of time:
Or if thou wilt permit the fun to climb

His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.

With rotten damps ravifh the morning air,
Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make fick
The life of purity, the fupreme fair,

Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick:
And let thy mifty vapours march so thick,

That in their fmoaky ranks his fmother'd light
May fet at noon, and make perpetual night.

« AnteriorContinuar »